


Asking for Your Mercy Kiss

by autoschediastic



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Blood, First Time, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For anything, everything Adam's asked of him, Tommy has never once told him no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asking for Your Mercy Kiss

"Fuck," Tommy's saying, low and throaty and wrecked with Adam's hand on his dick, "fuck, fuck, _Adam_ ," making Adam forget all the reasons why he shouldn't have given in to the urge to pin Tommy to a wall in a darkened corner like this, take him apart piece by piece with hands and mouth and _fuck_ , his cock, Adam hopes Tommy wants on his cock.

"Please," Adam says, cutting through Tommy's desperate mantra, "please, Tommy, tell me I can fuck you. I want to fuck you so bad, please baby, I want to give you everything."

Tommy's eyes snap open, wild and hectic, scared. The sharp smell of his sweat in the close space spikes, sweeping Adam up in a heat like gasoline-fed flames. Tommy's makeup from the show is smeared black and beautiful around his eyes, his lips bright blood red from Adam's rough kisses. He can't stop shivering, trembling as Adam works his cock, the tip so wet and slick, leaking all over Adam's fingers. Adam wants to fucking eat him alive.

But Tommy glances at the empty hall beyond the shadows barely deep enough to hide them. His heartbeat reverberates through Adam like a driving bass line, the frantic pounding of a drum. Swallowing hard, he asks, "Here, fuck, you sure?"

Adam closes his eyes against a wave of pure lust slamming into him. _No_ , he tries to say, _not here_. He wants someplace private, somewhere he can spread Tommy out, taste every inch of him. What comes out is a tortured, guttural moan, and the spark lighting Tommy's eyes in the dark brightens.

"You wanna fuck me that bad, you wanna do it right here?" Arms locked tight around Adam's neck, Tommy hitches his knee up, invites the slap of Adam's hands to his ass grinding them dick-to-dick, Tommy's shirt rucked up and jeans unbuttoned baring a gorgeous, teasing sliver of pale skin, a shadow of hair trailing low on his belly. "Wanna lift me up, get your cock in me, fucking nail me to the wall?"

"Yes," Adam hisses, mouth on Tommy's throat, pulse shivering against his lips, and no, fuck, _no_ , not like this. Not Tommy. Getting a hand between his mouth and Tommy's neck, Adam shoves him back, leans away from the sweet smell of his skin to gulp fresher air.

It doesn't help. Tommy's eyes go heavy as he falls easily back, lashes sweeping down long and thick and dark against flushed cheeks. He says, "Adam," full of soft reverence, quiet need, the same as people say their prayers when they truly believe in a god who listens. A shallow rattle echoes in his chest, his throat working as his body fights for the breath Adam's tight hold on his throat denies it.

Like from the fires of hell Adam snatches his hand back, crowding close to keep Tommy from sagging to the floor as oxygen floods his lungs. "Fuck," Tommy croaks, gingerly touching the vicious red marks already marring his throat, wincing as he swallows again. "You gotta-"

Adam has no fucking idea what Tommy's thinks he's got to do. Tommy smells like heat and sex, like pure desire chipping away at Adam's tenuous grip on control. Tommy never tells him no. For anything, everything Adam's asked of him, Tommy has never once told him no. The day Tommy tries is the day Adam's going to snap. Tommy _can't tell him no_.

"Please," Adam cuts in, an apology kissed to print of his hand marring, adorning, Tommy's throat. "It doesn't have to be here. I'll be careful with you, baby, I promise."

Tommy's laugh is ragged but real. "Fucker, you don't have to be careful with me, what the fuck is that shit." He pushes hair out of his face, scrubs the back of one hand across his bruised mouth. "You really wanna? I mean like, you mean it. I can't do hookups, man. Fuckbuddies, whatever." His arm drops along with his gaze. "Seriously. Can't do it."

It takes everything Adam's got left to not tear into Tommy right then, straight through his clothes and all the way inside him. Adam's whole life fucking reeks of Tommy. He's all over Adam's hands, in his mouth, and Tommy wants to know if he _means_ it. As if six fucking months of flirting and foreplay and Adam stuck staring longingly from lovesick distances craving him, _dying_ for him, didn't mean enough.

But all that's in Adam's head where he's kept it carefully hidden, locked away. Casual isn't just something Adam's bad at. Casual isn't something Adam's physically capable of being. He really, really needs to fill Tommy in on how very not casual this has to be.

"We need to go somewhere," Tommy says, snapping Adam out of his thoughts. Hitching up his jeans, he zips up, the sound ratcheting up Adam's spine in a siren call. "We could like, a motel somewhere. Hotel. Fuck, we gotta get a fucking room."

"A room?" Adam echoes, dazed. When Tommy slips from the shadows, Adam turns, stumbling on his heel. "What, Tommy, wait."

"You mean it," Tommy says, grabbing his wrist, dragging him through the warren of backstage passageways to a glowing exit sign. "You gotta mean it. I've seen that look on your face before, like you're gonna fucking die." Bursting out into the night, Tommy glances left, right, left again. There's a small crowd milling around the buses, one or two hanging back by the edge of the building, and Tommy takes off at a sprint in the opposite direction, sticking close to the wall and still hauling Adam along behind him.

A block and a half from the venue, Tommy slows, panting as he spins in a slow circle. "I don't even fucking know what city we're in."

"Denver," Adam says, then, "Seattle," as he yanks the phone out of Tommy's back pocket one-handed since Tommy refuses to let go. They're still in their fucking stage clothes, covered in rhinestones and glitter. Somebody's going to notice them soon. "Left," he says, and Tommy takes off at a brisk walk. "You'll have to get the room. It'll be all over the place if I do."

Tommy nods, flushed and breathing heavy. "Think it'll do any good to find a back entrance?"

"The kitchens," Adam says. "Easy to get in, and sometimes they don't talk. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Tommy flashes a smile, says, "Yeah," again. "Just, Jesus, we're gonna. I've been fucking wanting to, but not wanting to fuck shit up, and fuck you and your 'not messing with the straight boy' shit, god damn it, we could've," he picks up the pace, close to breaking into a run again, "for _months_."

A mad dash through starless streets in the middle of summer isn't exactly how Adam had pictured this going. For one, there had been more alcohol involved. A lot more. Knowing Tommy, he'll get a room with a minibar, though, and that's good. Tommy's going to fucking need it.

They split up a short distance from the Silver Cloud Hotel, Tommy leaning up to peck Adam on the mouth before jogging towards the front. With a glance to the sparse traffic, Adam circles around back, the stink of dumpsters and laundry bleach assaulting his nose. He aches at the loss of Tommy by his side, but he pushes it down, away. Maybe without Tommy around to cloud his head, he'll be able to think straight.

But even if Adam's head wasn't a Tommy-scented muddle, he's never been all that great with these kinds of judgement calls. If he backs off now, the least of it is hurting Tommy. Tommy will say he'll understand, the show won't change, but Adam will. He knows Tommy can be his. Tommy _wants_ to be his.

Tommy doesn't have a fucking clue.

Slipping in through the delivery bay, Adam strides into the kitchen. He's at a loss, not sure of the plan beyond here since they didn't actually bother to come up with one. Somewhere over the hubbub of clattering dishes and sizzling food, a phone rings. Adam's gaze lands on the woman who picks it up, confusion darkening her face until she looks up, sees him standing there. She jams the phone against her ear, holds up three fingers and points to a side entrance.

With a wave and a smile for her, Adam heads for the service elevator. He hits 3, fidgeting as the car starts upward with a lurch. He's not sure he's ready for this. He's never going to be ready for this. Last time he tried, it blew up in his face. But he's tired of hiding, and he's absolute shit at hiding from Tommy. Either he fesses up or Tommy figures him out anyway.

The most surprising thing about all of this is Tommy hasn't figured him out already.

On 3, he steps out, heads immediately down the hall to his left where Tommy's scent is strongest. One of the guest elevators is open, waiting, and he slides in, breathing deep and long as the doors close behind him.

Tommy grins, flashing a keycard between thumb and forefinger before he waves it at the fob, hits the button for the top floor. "All out," he says, sliding the card into his back pocket. "Gonna do it right, yeah?"

Like a switch flipped, Adam's flung straight back to the dark of the venue, mouth flooding wet at the memory of Tommy's cock in his hand, the way Tommy twisted and moaned for him. "Gonna do it so right," Adam says, forcing Tommy back into the corner, both hands pushed into his hair to tilt his face up. Tommy's eyes glitter in the soft light reflecting off the mirrors. Trust in Adam, in them, and desire. So much desire Adam can taste it flooding the air, melting on his tongue candy-sweet and thick.

"Come on," Tommy says, gaze dropping to Adam's mouth, "come on, fucking kiss me."

Tommy opens for him without hesitation, takes the slide of Adam's tongue and moans for more, hands fisting tight in the back of Adam's vest to haul him in closer, and this time around Tommy knows exactly how to fit their bodies together, shifting so Adam's cock is snug against his. He grinds into it, moans for that too, tugging and pulling on Adam's clothes like he wants to crawl inside them.

Through the haze of Tommy's scent spreading through the car, Adam thinks about the camera tucked in the corner of the ceiling, catching everything. Lips threatening to twitch back into a snarl, Adam shifts to cover Tommy completely, hiding his face and the gorgeous expression on it from whoever's up there watching. The change in angle gives Tommy his thigh to rub off on, and Tommy shudders, his head falling back, kiss-red mouth wide open, throat stretched long and pale and mottled with the beginnings of bruises in the shape of Adam's hand.

"Fuck," Adam breathes, fitting his fingers back to the marks. They're hot to the touch, blood spilled from broken vessels pushing close to the surface. Adam imagines he can smell it, rich iron tang, and then his nose skims Tommy's throat, his lips press to tender flesh. He sucks on the darkest of the marks, drawing more blood to the surface, drinking down the sharp noise of pain Tommy makes as if that will satisfy. Blunt, useless teeth dig into Tommy's skin. He could break through. One thought, a needle slice, and his mouth would be flooded with how Tommy truly tastes, not this muted, unsatisfying hint stolen from the surface of his skin.

Tommy groans his name, hands clenched tight on his shoulders. "Fuck, hurts," he says, and again, like he's been trying to get Adam's attention for awhile. Adam crawls out of a blood-scented fog to realise he has Tommy's head yanked to the side by a fistful of hair and a mound of Tommy's flesh caught between his teeth, pulse fluttering frantically against his tongue. Tommy's staring at him from the corners of his eyes, brow furrowed in pain and confusion and the slinky, tantalising taint of fear. He's not fighting. He hangs passively in Adam's hold, chest heaving, not trying to get away. If Adam wants this to go further, Tommy's going to let it happen.

Eyes squeezing shut, Adam groans. He tries to pull away and can't. Tommy is right there, afraid and still not saying no, and it doesn't matter that he has no idea what's happening. Adam's instincts don't give a fuck about the nuances of consent. Tommy smells willing, so he is. The only thing that's going to peel Adam off him now is a fucking crowbar.

But Tommy still doesn't know. He needs to know. When this is all over, he needs to be Adam's, wholly and completely, no hesitation, no doubt. Adam's made this mistake before, trusting in a love that hadn't run as deeply as he'd thought, hiding bits and pieces of the truth until he had the guts to confess. He can't take that rejection again, that slowly festering hate that broke his heart.

So between one hard beat of Tommy's heart and the next, he stops hiding. He opens his eyes, and he lets Tommy see him.

Tommy jerks back in a flood of fear and adrenaline. "Fuck," he says, "holy shit, oh _fuck_ ," and Adam looks down, not wanting to see in Tommy's eyes what he can hear in his voice. Adam is the same, always the same, but _more_. During the show, tiny shimmering slivers of what he is slip free, slink across the stage and down into the audience to work them into a joyous frenzy. In this tiny space, inches from his face, Tommy gets slammed with everything Adam is, unfiltered, unfettered, and Adam knows it's too much. Tommy's eyes go glassy, his breaths shallow, and he reaches dazedly for Adam's mouth, fingertips shaking as they skim Adam's parted lips, find the vicious point of a fang. Voice desert dry, crackling, he says, "You're fucking kidding me."

Forcing his gaze to meet Tommy's, to make Tommy see the truth in the spreading darkness taking over the blue of his eyes, takes more than Adam thought he had to give.

"Fuck," Tommy whispers. "Fuck, Adam." His hand flies to his throat, comes away clean. "You didn't-"

"No," Adam says, trying to ignore the shiver his voice sends rippling up Tommy's spine, the fresh spike of his scent. _I couldn't_ , he almost says, but he won't lie to Tommy any longer. "You didn't know."

Slowly, Tommy says, "But you wanted to," and while Adam agrees that's important for Tommy to know, he doesn't think it's really the first thing Tommy should be asking about. He nods silently, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Tommy's tongue darts out, nervously wetting his lips. "So, like, this scenario, the one where you fuck me, it ends okay, right? I wake up in the morning."

"Jesus, Tommy. I'm not-" Briefly closing his eyes, Adam takes a calming breath. It doesn't help, the air too saturated with the roil of Tommy's emotions. Beneath all the confusion, the doubt and the fear and the anger--anger at Adam keeping this from him, for springing it on him in a fucking elevator--smoulders Tommy's lust, banked and waiting. Tommy still wants him. Forcing his voice even, Adam says, "I don't want to kill you. I want to _have_ you."

Tommy's heartbeat trips. Either he ignores it, or doesn't notice, one corner of his mouth hitching up in a lopsided fraction of a smile. "Forever and ever, amen?"

Cold fury coats Adam's insides in sheets of prickling ice. He keeps it in check, because Tommy doesn't realise, still doesn't really know. "Don't tease. Please, Tommy, don't fucking tease me."

Tommy's eyes widen as his smile falls away, Adam's attempt to mask his anger falling short. "I'm not. I'm not teasing, shit. I wouldn't. Jesus fucking Christ, you're like, you're standing there, and you're _this_ , and you think I'm fucking teasing?" His focus jumps from Adam's face to the numbers counting up above the doors. "The-"

"I know." After a performance, Adam has time to calm down, roll all this back up and tuck it away. Here he's miles away from alone in a quiet room. The rapid thud of Tommy's heart against his ribcage breaks through his concentration and he growls, frustrated. Anyone who gets a look at him now is going to know something's up. He'll stick with them in more than the memory of a rockstar-glimpse. There'll be the vague, nagging unease, an uncertainty he's left only a few others with.

The doors slide softly open. "Too late," Tommy says, edging around Adam, wetting his lips again. "Clear shot. Is it gonna turn your crank if I run?"

"What," Adam snaps, then, "Don't-"

"I'm not teasing," Tommy repeats. He takes a step back, then another, creeping towards the open doors. "I mean it. If I run, is it gonna turn you on?"

Stuck trying to read Tommy's meaning in his eyes, Adam says, "Yes."

A grin flashes across Tommy's face. "C'mon, baby," he says, backing up another quick step, "catch me if you can," and he makes a break for it, running full tilt down the hall.

Breath Adam doesn't really need freezes in his lungs. For a second, a single quivering second, he thinks he's got control of himself. In the next the comforting delusion shatters and he darts after Tommy, gaining on him before he's even halfway down the corridor. Tommy glances over his shoulder, surprise sparking in his eyes, and he faces forward again, puts on an extra burst of speed.

Adam isn't even trying.

Half a dozen feet from the room Adam guesses is theirs by the way Tommy's fumbling at the keycard in his back pocket, Adam closes the distance between them. Tommy's shocked gasp when Adam's hand closes on his elbow is almost as beautiful as the way he stumbles, slams into the door with Adam at his back, crushing him to it. He struggles to push away, finally getting a fucking clue, _fighting_ , but it's too late for that. Adam senses are saturated in him, his heat and his sweat, his blood surging from his useless run. He's caught. He's caught, and Adam gets to have him now.

"Just," Tommy says, squirming, and that is so not fucking helping, "inside, fuck, Adam, wanna get you in the room." The light on the door flickers over to green with the snick of a lock released. He yanks at the handle, shouldering his way into the dark with Adam still on him, and then he's twisting around, trying to shove Adam back against the door as it bangs shut. "You like that?" he asks, hand smacking into the wall, lights flaring bright. "You wanna chase me s'more? Knock me down, fuck me on the floor?"

Shying back from the harsh light, Adam grunts, "Tommy, what the fuck."

"You liked it. Fuck, look at you," Tommy says, not even fucking listening. He reaches for Adam's face again, shivering when Adam snarls, grabs his wrist. "You are so fucking hot."

"I can't," Adam tries, dizzied, _aching_ , "stop, Tommy, can't think, can't-" Words die on a groan as Tommy presses up against him, puts his fucking throat right in the path of Adam's teeth. Before Adam knows it, he's got a fist tangled in Tommy's hair, the other in the front of Tommy's shirt, dragging him up onto his toes.

"Come on," Tommy says, rasping and strained all around the edges, "you wanna, come on." He reeks of eagerness, lust and fear, that safe, trusting fear that soaks him when he's watching horror movies, twisting through his blood, sweetening the scent that seeps through his pores. "You fucking wanted me, you got me."

When Adam hesitates, caught up trying to resist the urge Tommy is so fucking right about, Tommy sneaks a hand under Adam's shirt, strokes fingertips along bare skin. The touch echoes through Adam like a struck gong, and he tightens his grip, lips peeling back to set naked fang to delicate, vulnerable skin. Tommy makes a noise like a whine, high and honest, so fully enticing.

Pushed to his limit, Adam snaps, "Tommy, stop."

On a shivering breath, Tommy says, "I don't want to," but he stills, fingers hooked in Adam's waistband.

Barely, Adam manages to loosen his grip. "You can't just fucking _do_ shit like that. Push my buttons for kicks."

"Why?" Tommy counters as he settles solidly onto his feet, two parts a smart-ass challenge, one part curiosity. "Just 'cause you're, whatever, doesn't mean you're suddenly not you or something. You're not gonna hurt me." A mischievous quirk of a smile slinks in at the corners of his mouth. "Not gonna hurt me any way I won't like."

Adam chokes swallowing down a desperate groan. "Stop, for fuck's sake."

"I'm not afraid of you," Tommy lies straight through his smile. He's terrified. He stinks like prey. He _looks_ like prey, pretty and small and breakable, trembling beautifully in Adam's hold. "I'm so fucking turned on it hurts, but I'm not afraid of you. You should've fucking seen what you were like, chasing me. So, so fucking hot." His eyelashes dip as his tongue darts out, dampening his lips for the third fucking time, and through the haze threatening to take Adam over, he realises it's deliberate.

"This isn't a game," Adam says, frantic to make Tommy understand. If they do this, there's no going back. "I could kill you."

"Now who's the liar," Tommy whispers, nuzzling close to Adam's jaw, playing at the idea of a kiss. "Even if I drive you fucking crazy, you're not gonna kill me. You're gonna fuck me. Bleed me and fuck me, 'cause that's what you've been dying to do."

"Tommy," Adam growls, the last warning he manages as Tommy twists against his grip, sets teeth to his throat and bites down in a pale, harmless imitation of what Adam wants so badly to do to him. The smooth, useless edges of Tommy's teeth scraping skin light a flashfire rush of heat that sweeps out in a haze of red, blinding Adam to everything in the room that isn't Tommy. Letting go of Tommy's hair to cup the back of his skull, Adam crushes Tommy's mouth to his neck, almost goes to his knees when Tommy bites harder, sucks hungrily on unbroken skin as if he's the one craving the rich blood trapped beneath.

When Tommy breaks away, Adam's eyes snap open, gaze landing square on his reddened mouth. He's breathing hard again, backing away from Adam, telegraphing with his whole body his intention to run long before he's made the decision to do it. Adam waits for it, burning for the chase, and when Tommy takes too long, Adam takes a threatening step forward to startle him into taking off for the bathroom.

Stomping down a joyous shout, Adam darts after him, letting his boots hit the tile before grabbing onto the back of his shirt, yanking him back out into the room. Stumbling to the left from Adam's shove, Tommy manages to keep his feet, a brief flash of bright, wild eyes before he swerves toward the door leading to the hall. Again, Adam lets him get close, even lets him haul it open before jerking him back, flinging him with careful aim toward the bedroom.

Tommy hits the bed with a muffled curse, using the momentum to keep on rolling up and off the opposite side, streaking for the wide glass doors leading to the balcony. A sharp thrill lances through Adam at the thought of taking what Tommy's so willing to give out under the night sky, but he blocks Tommy again, forces him to detour through the seating area. Too late, Adam realises there's an exit to the balcony there, and Tommy whoops, flips him off as he plunges into the darkness outside.

Boots skidding on the carpet, Adam about-faces to cut Tommy off, nearly ripping the doors in the bedroom off their hinges as he darts out into the night.

"Shit!" Tommy shouts, barely enough time to realise he's caught before he crashes into Adam. He's already on his way down, footing lost, but he tries to turn it into a scrambling duck under Adam's reach. His elbow grazes the concrete, his face inches from being scraped to shit as Adam scoops him up in a roll, absorbing the impact as they both hit the ground, Adam flat on his back with Tommy sprawled out safe on his chest.

Catching his breath, Tommy says, "Shit," again, and then he's scrambling up, apparently thinking the chase is still on if Adam isn't holding him down.

Rolling over, Adam lazily grabs at his ankle, brings him crashing back down in a breathless heap. Crawling over him, Adam growls, "Stay," and relishes the way Tommy goes pliant, settling onto his back. The night washes him paler than he is, the flush on his cheeks standing out starkly against the black.

"Fuck," Tommy breathes, hands fluttering at his sides, wanting to touch but taking Adam's order to heart. _Obeying_. "Let me up."

"No," Adam says, catching his wrists to pin them to the cold stone on either side of his head, make it easier for him. "You wanted to get caught."

Tommy shudders. "Fuck yeah I did. Let me up, chase me back to the bus. Fuck me there."

Lust tugs the coil of heat in Adam's belly tight. He imagines stalking Tommy through the dark streets, chasing the sharp scent of his fear, playing with him because he wants to be played with, because it fucking turns him on. But he's hard and ready and under Adam now. "I can fuck you here."

"You gonna?" Tommy's eyes dart to the warm glow beyond the glass. "Gonna bleed me out here, then carry me in there, spread me out on that big-ass bed?"

"You don't even know what you're offering," Adam groans.

"Pretty sure I'm offering forever, unless Hollywood's been lying to me." Tilting his head to the side, Tommy bares his neck. "You want 'til death do us part, babyboy?"

Adam can't help leaning down, grazing his teeth over Tommy's pulse. None of this makes any sense. Like in a waking dream, he's sure they've skipped over all the important parts, the explanations as to how they ended up here. But all too real, blood pounds hot and thick against the press of his lips, and Adam has to ask, "What the fuck is even wrong with you?"

A laugh comes stumbling out of Tommy. He turns back only enough to catch a glimpse of Adam out of the corner of his eye, careful not to push Adam away from his throat. "You are like the hottest thing to ever fucking happen to me. The _best_. I don't even fucking care, okay? Anything you want. Everything you want."

Blind devotion. It sounds so good. Even when it isn't real, it feels amazing. Adam wants to collapse into Tommy's heat, rub his face in it and soak it all in. It's so hard to hold back, tell Tommy, "You have to care. I'll take too much if you don't care."

"That how it works?" Knees spreading wide, Tommy cradles Adam between his legs, presses up in a clear desire for Adam to get closer. His voice drops low as his cheek presses to Adam's temple. "Could you really kill me?"

Grudgingly, Adam says, "No." Murder isn't in him. Even angry and hurt, wanting to furiously lash out, he couldn't bring somebody close to that brink. But admitting it takes away what's left of his power over Tommy. If he doesn't have power over Tommy, then Tommy's got it over him, and this is how it goes bad all the time, every time. He needs Tommy far more than Tommy will ever need him. Letting go of Tommy's wrists, Adam pushes his hands under Tommy's back, lifts him to taste the sweat glistening in the hollow of his throat. "I need you to want me."

"Done," Tommy says, arms settling around Adam's shoulders. "Easy."

"I need you to not be afraid of me."

A tiny nudge tilts Tommy's head back. "Nervous isn't the same as afraid."

Closing his eyes, Adam frames Tommy's pulse between his teeth, slowly bites without enough pressure to break skin. Tommy sucks in a sharp breath and goes still, his eager anticipation leaking out into the air, slinking into Adam's lungs. Throat gone dry, Adam says, "I need you to stay with me. I need you to never leave, even if you hate me, because if we do this and you go away, it'll kill me." Maybe, though, that's not the way it is at all anymore. If Tommy ever grows to hate him, he'll _want_ to die.

"Kinda," Tommy says, and swallows, strands of his hair tickling Adam's face as he pushes up on his elbows, lets his head fall further back until he's staring blankly up at the night sky, "kinda like, that sounds like forever to me."

Shuddering with the effort, Adam pulls away, grates, " _No,_ , Tommy, Jesus, listen to me." He settles back on his knees and drags Tommy unresisting onto his lap, both hands spread wide at the base of Tommy's spine, supporting him until he crawls out of his head long enough to focus on what Adam's telling him. Tommy has to understand. Tommy's _going_ to understand, and then he's going to do what everyone else has done and Adam won't blame him one bit. The words echoing inside Adam's head are terrifying enough. Saying them, making them real, scares him so much he's sick with it.

Fingers soft in the hair at Adam's nape, Tommy says, "I'm listening."

Loosing a quiet groan, Adam drops his forehead to rest on Tommy's collarbone. Not wanting to watch the affectionate light in Tommy's eyes die a slow death is one weakness he's not going to fight. "This doesn't change you, it changes me. I can't, I won't be able to live without you. I need to know you get that. I won't want to be without you, ever, and I'll do anything to keep you. _Anything_."

Tommy's hand slides forward along Adam's jaw. Adam resists at first but Tommy's strong fingers press against his chin, make him tip his face up. Serious and low, Tommy asks, "For how long?"

"Always." It's a lot to ask of someone. It's too much to ask. "Still sure you can't just do a hookup?"

"Not with you." Tommy leans back, puts a pointless, token scrap of distance between them. The shape of his body, the way he fits in Adam's arms, is permanently burned into Adam's memory. "I wasn't ever gonna leave you anyway. Like, fuck this shit, whatever, I was gonna play music with you until we fucking died."

 _Was_. It's always past tense. _I would've loved you. I would've tried. I trusted you. Why didn't you tell me?_ As if it's so fucking easy to put your life in someone else's hands.

"Okay," Adam says, "okay," and his eyes are burning, thick, heavy pressure in his head. He's never going to forget tonight. Every time he looks at Tommy now, he's going to remember the hot taste of Tommy's excitement, the thrill in chasing him, catching him, almost _having_ him. It's going to destroy the band. Adam will try to keep it locked up, but that never works. He has a month, maybe two if he's lucky, before having Tommy so close drives him crazy enough to do something neither one of them will be able to forgive.

"Fuck, Adam," Tommy says, weird hitch in his voice, "you're so fucking dense sometimes. I didn't say no."

Adam squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. "You-"

"I didn't say no," Tommy repeats, stronger this time. He takes Adam's head in his hands, makes sure Adam's staring straight at him. He's gorgeous in the shadows, eyes bright in the deep black smudges of his stage makeup, the lipstick he put on for the encore all but gone, kissed away, the flush on his cheeks real beneath the dusting of blush. "This is me saying yes. Did you get that? Want me to say it again?"

"We're never gonna die together," Adam says, throat coated in rust. "As long as you're with me, we're never gonna die, and if someday you want to, you've got to do it without me."

"So I'll fucking live forever," Tommy growls, like he honestly doesn't care, like the whole concept of _forever_ doesn't weigh on him like it does on Adam. Too much can happen in forever. Too much can happen in an hour. "People are always saying if you wanna be happy, marry your best friend. If you want to do this with me, I'm right fucking here."

There's a hell of a lot more to this than that. This isn't something they should just _do_ , even if it feels so right, even if they both want to. But he says, "Hold on to me," and Tommy does. He presses a soft kiss to Tommy's throat, lets him feel the scrape of fang in one more warning, and Tommy doesn't shy away, his heartbeat echoing in Adam's head quick and steady, sure. Tommy doesn't ask if it's going to hurt, or if Adam's really going to do it, if Adam's sure this is what he wants. Tommy waits, ready to accept Adam's choice, excitement drenching his scent beneath the calm, and Adam opens his mouth, sets fang to flesh, and bites.

Tommy's hands, one in Adam's hair, the other in the back of his vest, clench tight. Like the first time Adam spread someone out beneath him, he takes his time, opening Tommy's body in a completely different way with a careful drag of teeth. Thick blood wells up, spilling into his mouth along with the urge in his gut to go deep, dig into Tommy's heat. He fights it, easing back before it can take over. His gaze lands on the wound he's opened on Tommy's throat, a dark, colourless smear on pale skin, and then skips up to Tommy's face and the crinkle of pain at his eyes, the slack fall of his mouth.

Laughing through a shaky breath, Tommy says, "Figures you'd like to watch," and shifts a fraction into the light, showing off what Adam's done to him. "Don't stop now."

Adam means to kiss him first, but the smell of blood drives him down to sink his teeth back into Tommy's throat one more time, opening a shallower wound below the first that he doesn't need but wants so badly to give. Layers and layers of Tommy soak the air, his blood and sweat, the sharp salt tang of unshed tears, the thick heaviness of arousal. Sure the last is leftover from before, Adam tugs at Tommy's fly, reaches inside to find Tommy's cock full and leaking.

Tommy bucks up into Adam's hand, Adam barely getting his teeth out of the way before Tommy ends up with a gash deeper and longer than they can care for on their own. "I fucking told you," Tommy gasps, tugging on Adam's hair, trying to get Adam back on his throat. "This shit really fucking turns me on, fuck, c'mon, suck on it."

"You are so fucking crazy," Adam grates, dragging his hand free. He can't deal with Tommy's blood in his mouth and Tommy's cock in his hand at the same time. Maybe someday he'll get used to it, manage to take everything Tommy's willing to give all at once. Right now all it's doing is threatening to make him cream his fucking pants, and he's not interested in being caught up in his own pleasure while Tommy's surging forward to grind against him, shamelessly pressing his throat to Adam's mouth telling him to take more, drink it all down, _feed_.

With a ruined noise, Adam closes his lips over raw skin. He has to work to swallow, wanting to keep Tommy's blood hot on his tongue forever. As soon as it hits his throat, though, it bypasses everything else to sink straight into his veins, mixing with his own blood in a prickling heat that races through him, bright and shining and sparking and on fucking fire. Then he can't stop, sucking too hard on Tommy's throat, making him twist and writhe but still grabbing Adam close, not trying to get away.

"God," Adam breathes, forcing his mouth from Tommy's throat up to press to Tommy's parted lips. Tommy's boot skids on the concrete, deliberately upsetting their balance so Adam has to fight to keep Tommy in his lap.

"Down," Tommy pants, tongue flicking at Adam's. "Put me down, want you to fuck me, you gotta fuck me."

"Can't," Adam says, easing Tommy onto his back, "baby, I can't," because they don't have anything and he's not going to do Tommy with only spit when it's already taking everything he's got to not tear inside him, drown in his heat. When Tommy's legs come up, lock around his hips, he has to bury his face in Tommy's chest and focus on the wild beat of Tommy's heart, remind himself how badly he wants to never hear that shudder to a stop.

Fingers drag along Adam's cheek, push at his lips as Tommy fucks up into him, the smell of Tommy's body gone even thicker, heavier, so close to coming. He doesn't realise they're wet with blood until they push into his mouth. Grabbing at Tommy's wrist, he sucks them clean, and when he looks up, sees Tommy's lips moving, what Tommy's saying comes crashing in, a disjointed ramble that sounds like, "Fuck, Adam, please get me off, I'm gonna fucking lose it, want your hands on me," and worse, filthy-terrible _wonderful_ things as he hangs on the edge, "gonna be yours forever, gonna let you be my like, fucking vampire god," dragging Adam shakily back to his throat, "I'm gonna let you do everything, you're gonna make me bleed and make me come and never let me go," and Tommy hits his peak, falls over it strung tight and shuddering with his blood slick on Adam's lips.

"Fuck, fuck," Tommy chants as soon as he's got the breath, scrabbling at Adam's pants, snarling his frustration when he can't find the zip that's hidden in the seam on the side. He shoves his hand awkwardly down the front anyway, clumsy overhand grip screaming loud and clear this isn't the first time he's gotten his hands on someone else's dick but it isn't what he's used to, either. "I wanna see you," he says, shouldering Adam up, hectic need burning bright in his eyes, "gonna come for me, right? You're gonna come for me," and Adam's helpless to do anything but, giving up entirely to the rough dry drag of Tommy's bloodstained hand on his cock, and staring at the blood on Tommy's throat, the rusty smears on his mouth from Adam's kiss and the clumped, messy chunks of blond hair dragging through them.

Weak and dazed, shocky, Adam collapses onto Tommy, barely getting an elbow braced on the concrete to take some of his weight before he goes down. His moans echo inside his head, shaking and unreal, and he knows he's saying something, he can feel his lips forming the words, but he can't figure out what they are through the noise. "Never," he thinks he says, "Tommy, god, I never, so good," muffled with his face buried in the crook of Tommy's neck, the electric tang of spilled blood soothing in the aftermath, calming as the stroke of Tommy's hands down his back. He tries to shake off the haze, successful enough he can open his eyes but not for much else. Tommy's the one that needs to be cared for. Tommy's the one that opened a fucking vein for him.

"In a minute," Tommy croaks, tightening his hold as Adam attempts to lift off him. "There's afterglow, m'basking."

"You're bleeding," Adam says, sounding about as wrecked as Tommy looks. "And shivering, and we should-"

" _Basking_ ," Tommy insists, nudging him with a knee. He mumbles approvingly when Adam settles back down, silent for a long minute until, "So. First time, huh."

Adam groans miserably. He hadn't honestly meant to skip that particular confession.

"Hey," Tommy says, urging Adam up, combing hair back off his face. A shower of glitter rains down, catches sparkling in glistening red. "Y'know I would've totally gone easier on you if you'd said you were a bloodsucking virgin."

Mouth falling open, Adam can only stare. "You shit," he says as a smile tugs on Tommy's mouth, "you fucking gorgeous little shit," as it spreads out into a wide grin.

"I like it," Tommy says, completely unapologetic, gleeful with his throat a mess, his blood smeared all over Adam's mouth. "I'm your first and only. I fucking love it."

"Do you?" Adam asks, and though he'd meant it to be light, wry, it falls flat and weighs a fucking ton. It's done now. This is it for him. Tommy's either going to be his life for always and forever, or the end of his everything.

Tommy's smile melts to a softer, gentler curve. "Yeah," he says, "yeah. I love it."


End file.
